Celtic Spirituality

National Catholic Reporter, Dec 15, 1995 by Michael K. Holleran

Grief takes many forms in our society and in our hearts. Sometimes books and films that depict grief, and our efforts to come to terms with it, can themselves be among the most heartrending of experiences. One of this month's selections bears witness to this.

First, however, we introduce the topic. "A New Road to Grief Recovery" is a series sponsored by Carol A. Green, founder of New Road Ministries, and hosted by a Lutheran minister. Its 90 minutes consists of six 15-minute presentations at a rural conference center in South Carolina for those whose lives have been overturned by grief. Our view is that of a participant, because the camera, for the most part, simply parks itself in front of the speaker, at times only moving back from the initial close-up after five minutes or more.

Normally this would be a mistake for a video production because the potential of the medium is not mined, nor do any benefits result from the use of video over audiocassette. In this instance, however, it is effective, perhaps because the issue is so emotional that simple visual contact with another human being, enhancing the voice contact, reassures and consoles us. It also allows the human density of the situation to impinge on us more deeply. In any case, the very natural, concentrated attention provided by the camera seems appropriate here.

The first presentation is given by the Rev. Tim Queen, a doctoral candidate who, with expertise and sensitivity, discusses the challenges of grief recovery. There is a solid focus on emotions and never a misstep as he deftly pinpoints these feelings and tends to them with sympathy. His image of clapping hands as the rhythm of intimacy in life is memorable, as also his assurance that abnormal reactions are normal in loss.

The second section on children's mourning by the Rev. Timothea Lewis is also extremely insightful, although, visually speaking, it is probably the weakest. The other four presentations are by survivors of various sorts of grief--loss of spouse and/or child--who courageously tell their stories.

One is struck by how much detachment these survivors seem to have achieved, until we realize they have all struggled between five and 15 years to reach their present equanimity. They are affable and personable, with no trace of bitterness, and will certainly be an inspiration to all who see and hear them.

Inspirational is far too pallid and inadequate a word to describe the next video, which I very much wish to bring forward, not only in relation to grief recovery, but in the war against homophobia. It is "After Goodbye," originally an hourlong broadcast on PBS in mid-1994. Since then, our parish and our campus ministry have used it time and a again, to gut-wrenching effect, as one viewer put it. Quite simply, it is the most powerfully moving video I have ever seen.

The focus is on the Turtle Creek Chorus in Texas, which had lost, at the time of production, 60 of its 200 members to AIDS. The film chronicles the men's efforts to grapple with death, loss and grief in their own ranks and, indeed, in their own persons.

Timothy Seelig, the director, recounts with humility and courage how he has been obliged to function only 10 percent as conductor and 90 percent as spiritual guide, father and "love symbol." There is also a support group for parents whose sons have died of AIDS, whose sharing we are privileged to hear. Friends and lovers nobly tell of their own intimate struggles and feelings, as do some who are themselves battling AIDS. Indeed, one of the most emotionally devastating features of this video is that several of those we meet were dead by the time production was completed.

Among these is Kristopher Jon Anthony, whose friend, caregiver and musical partner, Carolyn, tells her story, but who never speaks to his himself except through the eloquence of his music. During the year before he died, he composed a choral setting for a series of poems by Peter McWilliams, which follows the non-classic five stages of grief outlined by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross.

McWilliams himself sets an excellent tone in his own interview, affirming that the numbness and denial we experience in the face of grief is a healthy reaction, a "transformer" that "steps down the pain" so that we can gradually absorb it. Still, it is Anthony's music that is the soul of this video, surrounding it and suffusing it lovingly, connecting its tissues and acting as interlude between spoken segments.

Kubler-Ross participates fully, interviewed at her farm in Virginia, and she is superb. An exquisitely wizened Swiss-German woman psychiatrist, she has both earthy tenderness and raw strength. Almost an archetype herself, like some ancient sibyl or sculpted tree on an alpine summit, from her furrowed visage come statements that emanate from the depths of wisdom and pierce the heart. She compares the souls of homosexual people with AIDS to the Grand Canyon, carved by the elements and "open for all to see."

"They have been fabulous," she says. "They have taught us much about love."